


Bad Reputation

by LadyKoyote



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Insults, M/M, Missing The Strife, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, POV Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, POV Kurosaki Ichigo, POV Third Person, Post-Yhwach, mild stalking behavior, stagnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 19:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKoyote/pseuds/LadyKoyote
Summary: What do you do when the homicidal Sexta Espada you thought died inserts himself into your life and refuses to leave?  If you Ichigo Kurosaki, make the best of it.Three years after the defeat of Ywhach, Ichigo Kurosaki has settled into simply existing.  Despite beliefs, his Hollow and Quincy Powers left him, six months after they returned, something he has chosen to keep quiet on.  Yet, he still feels as if a part of him is missing.  So when the one person he mourned the most after it was all said and done is suddenly in his apartment, his world is turned on its head once and he finds the insanity that Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez brings into his life is the most alive he has felt in years.  And as a whirlwind relationship starts questions begin to arise about how Grimmjow even came back at all.  And the loudest of those questions?Why does no one but Ichigo Kurosaki remember Grimmjow and his role in Aizen's War?





	Bad Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> So before I really begin I am going to point out a few details. First, this is a cannon divergent piece and you can except some out of character bullshit all over the place. Secondly, there is going to be some character bashing, headcanons (Especially with Zangetsu - and yes, I know everyone calls him Shirosaki or Hichigo or something along those lines but the reality is he is Zangetsu and we’re going to address him as such. But Shirosaki Zangetsu isn’t a bad second option). There’s a whole bunch of stuff going on here, please read the tags. This chapter is mild all things considered but you should know this won’t stay that way. Expect explicit shit, gay sex, porn with a plot. Not just porn, sorry. 
> 
> I do bounce around with styles of writing, often it is intended to invoke a mood. Demi-sexual Zangetsu with a more ace spectrum personality means not a lot of scenes involving him and Ichigo or Grimmjow or both but it will happen at least twice (there’s going to be a lot of sex so that is a very small amount all things considered). Another detail, I have not read The Thousand Year Blood War Arc, but I have tried to get an understanding of it and am trying to buy those books. It is not being ignored here but for now, I won't be adding detail on the events except ones critical to the storyline here.
> 
> And finally please be gentle, this is my first published fan fiction piece. I started writing fanfiction for myself in January of this year but I have been writing since I was 10 using my own characters. That means over 18 years folks and I never tried fan fiction until 2019, god I am old. I don't mind advice if you are also mentioning things you like but as this is my first attempt at fanfiction and meant to be fun and for my own enjoyment I would like to keep things light.
> 
> Lady Koyote
> 
> See below for more notes.

## The Ashes Of Victory, The Slow Stench Of Despair

 

### The ashes of victory; And it had but one name; Stagnation.

  
  
The steady crescendo of a sound registered in the mind of the orangette as the alarm he’d set on his phone the night before. ' _Monday,_ ' the thought occurs. Spring break was over. And that meant back to yet another glorious damned day at university. The thought was an ashy taste in Ichigo Kurosaki’s mouth as he pushed himself from his bed and stumbled out into the hall, bleary-eyed and heading for the bathroom. If he were honest, sometimes he swore that’s all he tasted.

 

_The ashes of victory._

 

Something within the vizard seemed to whisper this mournful phrase. At first, however, victory had been something bittersweet. So much was lost in the battle against Yhwach and the Quincies, but they had come out the other side victorious. Yet, so much had to be rebuilt. Lives had been lost, trust had been broken, so much had been destroyed. It was a painful, and heart-wrenching thing. Everyone began to do what they could in their search for normalcy.

 

Within those first six months, Ichigo began to realize one truth. Normal is an arbitrary concept that carries many forms and is dependant on whom it pertains to. Rather than keep to his own normal, Ichigo settled into what others expected of someone they’d deemed _hero_. ' _Yet again_ ,' his mind echoed. He wasn't sure he cared for the title or the sentiment.

 

For Ichigo, as time wound on, he began to understand that the normality he was following for the sake of others held only one name for him. Stagnation. As the world around him settled into a peaceful existence, the flame-haired shinigami learned he hadn’t lost his hollow powers, nor those of the Quincy blood in his veins. This was a fact he kept from everyone but Renji Abarai and Kisuke Urahara. He learned quickly how to seem like his normal self before he became a shinigami. But he’d been changed and branded by it all. These days he felt as if he was on autopilot. The sad truth of that being, that no one had once asked if he was alright as he truly began to fall into the depths of his own grey existence. Grey like the very ashes he swore he tasted with every breath he took.

 

Perhaps because he'd crafted this himself he found no bitterness and anger in that truth. How could he feel betrayed or upset when he’d purposefully protected them from it? He’d always been that way. Protecting everyone from everything, including himself. But the reality was, the fifteen-year-old boy was gone, and in his place stood a twenty-year-old man who’d known the taste of blood in his mouth and the sear of steel in his flesh far too often, and while he was far too young. They’d all been through hell, and he would love to think it had changed others in the same branding way it had him, but he was aware they had moved on. It _had_ changed them, matured them all far too soon, but they were all thriving in the peace of normal lives.

 

Chad was going to university but was on the boxing team, and it looked like he might have a chance at a professional career. Uryu had moved past everyone in their medical school classes and even taken on extra courses, and as a result, was nearly done with his Ph.D. Orihime was taking classes to become a professional Chef. Tatsuki was working teaching at a local dojo as an Assistant Instructor. Keigo and Mizuiro were in classes at the same university Ichigo, Chad, and Uryu attended. Ichigo's sisters were sixteen and in high school. The old goat was still himself. But they’d all moved on. And Ichigo was, well, sometimes he felt numb.

 

The morning routine was mindless. A series of tasks and nothing more; piss, wash his face, coffee, eat, shower, brush his teeth, shave, hair, get dressed, get his shit, and get out the door. Of these, coffee was the most important. He started drinking it when he was eighteen, and he’d developed a nasty caffeine habit. And by nasty, he meant he was a mean mother fucker if you bothered him before coffee. As others quickly learned.

 

Renji crashed at his apartment sometimes when he was in the living world, to avoid Kisuke and his band of merry circus monkeys, as the red-headed shinigami liked to claim. He came to realize not to screw with Ichigo before he’d had coffee very quickly. As had Uryu when he came over one time in the morning far too early on a weekend. This did not stop more events like this and Orihime was one, who, when a witness to it, tried to run interference.

 

Especially the time he was hungover and coffee had not been had yet. Adding the two together was a poor idea. It was near tragic, and Uryu learned Ichigo could be a truly cruel and sadistic being when hungover and lacking caffeine. And, that he had a spiteful streak.

 

The morning routine today was no different. Nor was the school routine. He caught the bus, went to class, got through the day, got on the bus again, went home; it was the same thing all the damned time. If he had plans with his friends or family he got ready for those. Or, Ichigo studied. It was a perfectly normal, entirely unremarkable, average, everyday fucking life. So much so it was like he hadn’t seen any color in three years. The world felt as sepulchral, to Ichigo Kurosaki, as the blackness around the startling golden irises of Zangetsu’s manifestation in his inner world.

 

Gloomy and lifeless, empty and wanting.

 

Ichigo had begun to long for anything to make him feel alive. But he’d never allowed himself to seek it. Protecting everyone and everything from his own truth. The simple truth that he missed it.

 

He missed the ring of steel as blades clashed, the whisper of Death's cold breath on your neck, victory taunting you, just out of reach. He missed the pain that reminded him he was still alive and fighting, and the rush of adrenaline as he fought to forge onward through that agony. He even missed those moments where it all felt lost and winning seemed impossible. He certainly missed the rush of finding strength when he thought it was all drained from both body, mind, and spirit, and it was hopeless. Ichigo missed the times when he was squaring off with something or someone so powerful he was acutely aware death could come at any point in this fight. He missed the chill of fear along his spine when he had reacted too late. The tension in his muscles, the strain of a battered body trying to stand, and having to draw on nothing but sheer will power alone to continue. All of it, really, he missed all of it. But mostly? He missed the _chaos_ and uncertainty. He thrived in those moments where the world around him was a swirling mass of anarchy and turmoil. For it was in these moments Ichigo felt most _alive_. That was gone, and another colorless week began to stretch itself across the expanse of his vastly narrowed world.

 

Monday was easy to get through. As was every other day. And now on a Saturday afternoon, Ichigo had spent a lot of the day with his friends and family, but before him now sat the studying he needed to get done. A few small assignments, some reading, a test to study for, and a research paper to continue working on were what lay ahead of him. He was in for the long haul. It was only 4 PM, but he had no doubt he’d be working until, at least 10 PM, maybe 11 or later.

 

For a moment, however, he just sat there, staring down at the book he’d been about to crack open, and the substitute shinigami couldn’t help thinking about something from years ago. Unsure why, but it was the agreement he’d made with Grimmjow in Hueco Mundo that came to his mind. And he thought about the fact, that when he set eyes on him three years ago for the first time since defeating him there in Los Noches, he wouldn’t mind a rematch. As time wound on during the events of the battle against Yhwach and his forces, he began to consider that that was how he would know it was done. The fiery-haired shinigami would know Yhwach was gone and they'd finally made it out when he finally crossed blades with Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez again. It was then he'd know, without pause or doubt, they had been victorious.

 

That never happened.

 

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez died in the battle against Yhwach and his forces, taking Askin with him. However, they were able to save Yoruichi Shihōin and Kisuke Urahara. The blue-haired Espada had been the most unlikely ally, and all for the sole purpose of fighting Ichigo again. Yet, he’d died in a battle that he didn’t need to take part in. It was the death Ichigo considered the most senseless and painful out of all the pointless deaths that came in the aftermath, at least, to him. After those first few weeks, people stopped mentioning Grimmjow. But there were some days, even now, Ichigo couldn’t help but think what he wouldn’t do for a chance to fight that man just once more.

 

Some sort of color in the bleakness.

 

_Would it truly hurt?_

 

 

### The slow stench of despair.

 

_‘Wasn’t it about time?’_

 

The thought had run through the Espada’s mind about a month back. It was a jarring and thrilling thought, but he knew there was only one answer; it was. There were just a few last things he needed to get done. It would take the next month to finish them.

 

It had been the task of cutting the rest of his ties, dropping off the grid fully, and entirely ceasing to exist from the underworld of criminal activity Grimmjow had steeped himself into for the sake of a plan hatched some time ago that filled his life for the month of March. Grimmjow had also ensured there was nothing out there in court cases that could cause him issues. He had assured himself there was no evidence lurking around. He had guaranteed no one with loose lips who actually saw anything or knew something was left alive. He’d made sure none of it would ever come back to him and bite him in the ass. He’d been careful from the start, but he wanted a final certainty before he began to move forward with the rest of what he'd planned all that time ago.

 

After his death, he was back to fucking square one with the fucking orange-haired bastard. Not only had he not been able to find a way to get what he wanted from Ichigo Kurosaki but now, Grimmjow had gone and died. He'd been all but ready to throw himself back into the old plan but he'd stopped. He stopped when he realized how long he’d been dead; six months. The bluenette had taken some time to consider things when he'd found that out, and decided maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. Ichigo Kurosaki deserved more than he could give at that moment in time. It was sappy and sentimental, and pathetic coming from Grimmjow, but it was true. And there was no point denying his feelings on the subject. He had nothing to even bring to the table. So he’d stayed dead for three years until he did. He’d dipped himself in the darkest dregs of humanity, seen it all and done it all. A one-stop shop of destruction.

 

And he was _good_ at it.

 

The people of the physical world were easy to steal from. Easier to kill. And Grimmjow was really good at killing people and destroying things. And apparently, you could get paid a lot of money for killing people and helping other people kill people. Mercenary work, contract killing, murder for hire. Those were certainly easy tasks for someone like Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. But the Espada never planned on continuing the occupation once he was ready. He’d spent time laying low from January until February, having already cut his major ties in December and spent March finishing off the work of ensuring the details.

 

But now in the cool early April night air, he stood watching mid-air above the sixth floor of the apartment complex Ichigo stayed in. There on the fifth floor, the light was still on in his bedroom. The vizard had the corner apartment and was notorious for not locking his balcony door. Yes, Grimmjow was personally aware of this fact. He’d never once in three years noticed Grimmjow. He’d come back here time and time again to check on him.

 

The Sexta had had a penthouse in the city for the last year but before that he’d been quote, unquote, officially living in a shit hole not far from here. But the bastard never noticed him thanks to this fucking gigai. In the end, a good thing, but it was still frustrating to realize just how numb Ichigo was to the world around him. The old Ichigo would have noticed him on the street corner. He’d have felt Grimmjow standing here right now actually exerting reiatsu.

 

The Espada would wait there for hours on end before, finally, the light below turned off around midnight. He’d waited another hour before he’d dropped down softly onto the balcony, and slid the door open, silent as the grave. Pushing through the curtains, and stepping into the small space between the door and the bed, he paused to look down at the sleeping form tucked beneath his comforter and sheets. Grimmjow was so close he could have put his hand through Ichigo's gut before he knew what happened. The orangette was out cold. Blue eyes cast themselves to the walls of the room, the sparse furniture, the lack of decorations. Lifeless and cold. Grey and black. Even the wood of the desk and dresser were black, sanded down and painted it seemed before being given a clear finish. Not a custom job, but not a do it yourself project. Bought as is. But all of it spelled one thing.

And he could smell it as much as see it.

 

The slow stench of despair was so strong it made him want to vomit. How Ichigo's friends could not smell it was beyond him. How could they not see it? Wasn’t it obvious? This wasn’t Kurosaki! This was a shell of who he once was. The lights were on but nobody was fucking home! ' _Three fucking years_ ', he thought in venomous malice.  How had _no one_ seen how far this being had fallen?  Why was it no one seemed aware of it but Grimmjow? The burn of blue eyes cast downward for a moment, they were cobalt flames alight in the blackness of the room, feral and raw. They settled on the form of the man he'd done it all for. Ichigo Kurosaki, right there, helpless, defenseless; Grimmjow's for the taking if he wanted it, but that was easy. He didn't want _easy_.

 

He didn’t want _this_ out of him.

 

This was _pathetic_ and _disgusting_.

 

He wanted the sexy bastard he remembered. The one he hated, and loved, and wanted to fucking mutilate with his sword. The one he wanted to fuck senseless and make scream his name. To have come at him with that damned power of his that Grimmjow could get so easily drunk on. Let him taste that fucking delicious reiatsu, and feel the pain of a blade in his flesh again. He wanted the adrenaline of a real fight. But right now? This wasn’t the man he knew. And it was time for him to fucking _wake up_. Ichigo Kurosaki had been sleeping for three years. And Grimmjow was _done_ with his listlessness.

 

The Espada moved to the end of the bed slowly, watching the orange-haired shit. Grimmjow waited in silence. He’d left the balcony door open with one purpose, and when he saw Ichigo begin to shift a slow grin began to form to his lips. A curved and fangy thing, pure sadistic glee and primal instinct on display for the man.

 

“Yo, been a while, _Kurosaki_.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few last details;  
> Grimmjow died but guess what, Grimmjow is alive  
> Kisuke and Yoruichi did live.  
> Under strange circumstances, Ichigo did regain his hollow and Quincy abilities, it is unknown at this time of why (it will be figured out over the course of the story)  
> I know gigai's don't work this way. I promise there is a good explanation and isn't simply 'Oh, modified gigai!'. It's part of the plot which is the fun part here. 
> 
> You are welcome to, as I said, give some gentle critiques, advice for my start into fan fiction, make comments, ect. I will be trying to post a new chapter every week. You should know some of those chapters include monster scenes that are over 6000 words so be prepared to both read and understand not every week can I put out a full chapter. This is about the shortest chapter I have thus far. And I promise there is sex coming soon! I'm not too good a slow burn so I am not going to try it just yet.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this so far, see you next week.
> 
> I should have chapter 1 proofread and edited and ready by then, it's already drafted!


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